


Together or not at all

by dapperanachronism



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Finding themselves, Getting Together, M/M, Nightmares, Not canon compliant after CA:TWS, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Recovery, Reunions, feelings are hard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-30
Updated: 2017-06-30
Packaged: 2018-11-21 09:23:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11354547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dapperanachronism/pseuds/dapperanachronism
Summary: This is where it all began for Bucky. He wonders if Bucky knew at the time that something had changed in him. In hindsight, Steve realises that yes, he probably did. They both did.





	Together or not at all

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The Italian Villa](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11087415) by [mific](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mific/pseuds/mific). 



> This work was inspired by some incredible art created by mific, who I can't thank enough for creating something so beautiful. I really enjoyed working on this project, and I spent many hours staring at the pretty art as I worked, so thank you for that. The art can be found [here!](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11087415) and [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11316021)
> 
> Thank you also to [Robin_tCJ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Robin_tCJ/pseuds/Robin_tCJ) who once again, bailed me out and beta'd this.

He’s picking his way through a forest in northern Italy, somewhere near the Austrian border. It’s quiet -- just the soft breeze rustling the leaves, the birds singing above him, the sound of his own boots on the dirt. The trees and shrubs have grown up tall and strong, covering much of the rubble that had been left after the fortress had blown. 

It’s amazing, just how much the landscape has changed in seventy years. Like it’s managed to heal itself. It feels kind of like a shred of hope.

“You sure about this?” Sam had asked him as he was packing up. “I mean, you barely just got out of the hospital.”

The idea had taken hold after the first long night he’d spent flipping through the file that Natasha gave him, the file that left him with as many questions as it answered, the file that had left him raging, and crying to Sam who’d stayed up all night with him, the file that was driving him to act but giving him very few leads. 

“I have to,” Steve had said, and then corrected himself: “I _want_ to.” 

Sam had stared at him for a long moment, then nodded. “There are a few things I need to wrap up here. Then I’ll come and meet you,” he said, as if he’d understood that this is something Steve needs to do on his own.

Steve’s phone buzzes in his pocket -- a reminder that he’s got the ability to communicate, and he’s got backup at his fingertips. Last time he’d been here, he’d had a smashed up radio and a prop shield. He’d been cut off and on his own, walking into a death trap. 

It doesn’t feel like a death trap now, but it still weighs heavy on him. This is where it all began for Bucky. He wonders if Bucky knew at the time that something had changed in him. In hindsight, Steve realises that yes, he probably did. They both did. Steve vividly remembers the long march back into allied territory, the dark circles under Bucky’s eyes, the expression that haunted his face, the way he he looked at Steve with concern, and snapped at Steve for letting someone turn him into a science experiment until Steve explained the process. Bucky still hadn’t been happy, but he’d been mollified. Long after, Steve realised that Bucky’s concern was because he’d been afraid that Steve had suffered the way he himself had on Zola’s table.

The thought always did make him feel ill. It’s worse, now that he knows what Zola did after Bucky’s fall, what HYDRA did during all those years.

Steve stops in an open area and kicks at a piece of cement. He’s pretty sure this is the spot where Gabe and Dum Dum had commandeered the tank. God, they’d loved that thing. Hadn’t wanted to give it up once they got back to base. That day had been a victory -- a huge victory, nothing could change that. But Steve had thought that he’d saved Bucky that day, when in reality he’d only bought Bucky a temporary reprieve from the pain. 

“Goddammit!” Steve swears and lashes out, kicking the cement block. It sends a shock jarring up his leg, but he doesn’t care. “Goddammit. I’m sorry, Bucky. I’m so sorry.” He wishes that there was still some part of the base standing. He wants nothing more than to tear it to shreds all over again, but instead all he has is heat prickling his eyes and a weight sitting heavily on his chest. He’d signed on to Project Rebirth because he wanted to help, he wanted to fight for what was right. But when it came right down to it, the moment of action, his first mission, the one that defined everything he became, it was all about saving Bucky.

And he’d failed. He just hadn’t realised it at the time. 

His mind supplies him the image of Bucky on the bridge, it replays the sound of him asking, “Who the hell is Bucky?” over and over again. He remembers barely holding on to consciousness, bleeding out, barely able to see Bucky through swollen eyes, but the image of Bucky’s face contorted in pain and recognition is seared into his memory.

Bucky _knows_ him. And Steve sure as hell didn’t drag himself out of the river. He barely remembers even hitting the water. 

Steve continues across the ruined site, towards the edge of the crumbled foundation. There are other tracks in the dirt, and well beaten paths leading to this point. He’s not the first person to make the hike here, and he won’t be the last. He’s standing on a piece of history. His history. This is where Captain America was born. And somewhere, high in the Alps, a part of him died. No amount of trying to build a new life can change that. 

The air shifts, the back of his neck prickles, and Steve feels that he’s no longer alone. He wasn’t sure what he was looking for here, but he’s found more than he bargained for. He feels eyes boring into his back, but he doesn’t turn around. He’s not afraid. For a long time, neither of them break the silence; Steve’s working too damn hard to control the mess of emotions he’s feeling. When at last he does speak, it’s tentative.

“I honestly didn’t expect to find you here,” he admits. 

There is a long pause, and then a voice that’s so familiar, it aches to his core responds, “1943. US Armed Forces 107th division engaged with German Forces in southern Austria. Majority of the battalion was killed, or captured, including Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes. Prisoners were held… here.” 

Steve turns, and there, standing 20 feet away from him is Bucky. He’s ditched the tactical gear and is dressed in plain jeans, shirt, jacket. If they were anywhere else, Steve would almost be able to believe for half a second that they were two normal people. But that’s not their story.

“Unauthorized rescue mission undertaken by Steven Grant Rogers, aka Captain America,” Bucky continues. His eyes move around the site, studying the remains with intensity before his attention drifts back to Steve. “I went to the museum,” he adds quickly. 

Steve wants so badly to step closer, to close the distance between them, but he resists. Heavy tension is set in Bucky’s shoulders, his movements are careful and controlled, and he’s ready to spring into action. As much as Steve wants to reach out, he needs to let Bucky come to him. 

“I knew you were here,” Bucky admits, shifting slightly on his feet that stay firmly rooted to the ground. “But I still nearly left.”

Steve’s stomach clenches at the idea that he almost could have missed Bucky, that Bucky could have been so close and he wouldn’t have known it.

“Do you remember?” Steve asked, proud of the way he manages to keep his voice steady when he feels anything but. Here the two of them are, standing on the edge of another lifetime that doesn’t feel that long ago, and Steve wonders how the hell they both ended up here.

Bucky is still, as still as the stone rubble at his feet, but across his face flickers memory, pain, fear, reluctance, as if he’s shying away from admitting that he remembers, even though Steve _know_ that Bucky does. The moment stretches long between them, winding so tight Steve feels like something is about about to snap, until Bucky nods. One sharp jerky movement to confirm that Steve is right, that Bucky does remember him. 

“Twice,” he adds a moment later, more to himself than to Steve. “I remembered you twice.” Steve is desperate to ask what he means, but the distant expression on Bucky’s face causes him to stop short. Later. That answer can wait.

“Why did you come here?” Steve asks instead. It’s a stupid question, Bucky is likely here for the same reason that he is. They’re both so damn awkward and on edge right now it’s almost painful. Steve has spent so long thinking of all the things he wished he’d said to Bucky, thinking how he’d give up everything just to have a few more minutes with Bucky to say them. But all he’d had was the hollow void in his chest that came with the knowledge that he’d never get that chance, because Bucky was _dead_. 

And now that that chance is staring him in the face, against all the odds, none of what he wants to say feels right. Bucky looks almost ready to bolt, and Steve pouring his heart out could very likely tip him over that edge. Steve refuses to let himself mess this up. 

“I came because -- can we sit down?” Bucky asks, nodding over towards a particularly large moss covered piece of debris. Steve moves and takes a seat first at one end, so Bucky can choose how much distance he wants to keep between them. To his surprise, Bucky places himself only a foot away on the stone, after hesitating briefly. 

“I tried to kill you,” Bucky says matter of factly. It comes across like a confession, and that doesn’t sit well with Steve at all. He resists the urge to immediately tell Bucky it’s not his fault. Steve has spent enough time around Sam, watching him work that’s he’s learned the importance of letting someone speak, letting them air their thoughts and their feelings before jumping in. “I was trying to kill you, and you were pulling your punches.” 

“Not really,” Steve responds quickly, but Bucky continues.

“You were inflicting non-lethal damage. Trying to put me out of commission but not more. Even after I stabbed you.”

“I wasn’t going to kill you Bucky,” Steve says much sharper than he intended. But Bucky doesn’t flinch. 

“I know. And that was stupid of you,” Bucky says matter of factly. Steve does flinch at that. It’s a punch to the gut, that Bucky’s so casual about something that’s given Steve endless nightmares. “You damn near didn’t succeed at your mission, Steve, and you nearly got yourself killed. Putting me down would have been smarter.”

Steve doesn’t even know how to begin to respond to that. Bucky’s casually telling him off for being dumb and reckless, just like they were kids again. Bucky’s casually telling him that Steve should have put him down, like he was a resource to be expended, because it would have made tactical sense.

“I couldn’t,” is all Steve manages to say.

“I know,” Bucky responds quietly. “Thank you.”

They’re quiet for a long moment, sitting side by side, neither moving, neither looking at the other. It should be awkward, but it’s not. Steve’s prepared to sit there as long as Bucky wants. There are so many questions that Steve wants to ask, but every time he opens his mouth to speak, he hesitates, terrified of saying the wrong thing. But the minutes tick by and still Bucky is sitting there next to him, showing no sign of leaving. It’s when Bucky shifts and relaxes minutely that Steve finally works up the courage to ask the question that’s weighing most heavily on the front of his mind.

“Why did you pull me from the river?”

“I don’t know,” Bucky responds immediately. Steve’s not buying it.

“Bullshit,” he says, surprised that that gets a hollow laugh from Bucky.

“I didn’t know at the time,” Bucky amends. “I knew you. And I knew that I couldn’t let you drown. The rest came after.” Bucky shrugs apologetically, but it’s enough. It’s everything Steve could have hoped for. Before steve can doubt himself, he reaches into his bag and draws out the thin file Natasha had given him. It seems only fair that he’s honest with Bucky about what he knows. And this file is about him, he has a right to see it, to decide what to do with it.

“This is yours,” Steve says as he passes it over. Bucky takes it, opens is, and his eyes quickly scan the pages.

“You read this?” Bucky asks, and it’s not remotely accusatory. 

“Yeah, I did.”

The photo of Bucky from back before he shipped out, all done up in his dress uniform, is still clipped in place on the front page of the file. Bucky stares at it for a long time. 

“I wasn’t sure if I could trust my memories. Never kept many of them long. But after the river, I remembered being him. Remembered being me. I didn’t believe it. Not until I saw him -- me -- at the museum.” Bucky closes the file and hands it back to Steve.

“It’s yours,” Steve says again, and Bucky hesitates before slipping it into his own backpack. 

“I remember everything with them. With HYDRA,” Bucky continues. “It’s only what came before they tried to erase. Did a lot of digging of my own while you were in the hospital. They... uh. They had to keep… recalibrating me. If I was out too long, I started remembering. Just flashes, feelings. But it interfered with the, I guess the programming. I guess because I -- we -- heal faster, my brain started healing itself. They couldn’t burn out everything from before out of my memory, they’d risk destroying all the base level stuff, basic survival and human instinct and shit. So they just disrupted certain neural pathways. Or something like that. But. I guess when left alone, my brain started fixing itself. I started remembering. You, uh, what you said. I think that jump started it.”

“To the end of the line,” Steve whispers half to himself, voice rough.

“Yeah,” Bucky says, sounding not much better. “Did you mean it?”

Steve starts and turns to look at Bucky. He’s working his jaw, a slight movement that’s been a tell as long as Steve has known him, and that says more about how anxious and vulnerable Bucky is feeling than words ever could. 

“Of course I did. I mean it then and I mean it now. To the end of the line. Always.“

Bucky’s shoulders sag in relief, and Steve realises for the first time that Bucky had been terrified of rejection. He’d come out here, not even certain that Steve would want him. Steve reaches out and wraps an arm around Bucky’s shoulder, not sure that it’s the right move until Bucky leans against him and lets out a shaky breath.

“I’m glad you found me here,” Steve says, leaning against Bucky in return. Bucky hesitates and then replies,

“I didn’t find you. I followed you. Sort of.”

“You what?”

Bucky shrugs beside him. “Since the river. I kept tabs on you. Needed to make sure you were okay, needed to know who you were, needed to know where to find you in case you had answers that I couldn’t find elsewhere. I’m not sorry.”

“You shouldn’t be. I was about to start doing the same thing, trying to track you down. I just wanted to come here first. I don’t know what I was hoping to find, but it felt important.”

“It’s a lot nicer looking than the last time I was here,” Bucky comments, sitting up a little.

“Not saying much. Last time you were here it was on fire,” Steve points out. They both break out into a fit of giggles a moment later, and Steve can’t believe just how surreal the whole moment is. Like any second he’ll wake up and find he’s been dreaming. But it’s real. Bucky beside him is warm and alive. 

The laughter peters off and they both catch their breath, coming back to themselves. Steve kicks at the dirt with his heel . It’s not quite comfortable between them, not yet. There’s still too much weighing them down, too many things unsaid. But it’s better than Steve could have dared to dream. 

“So, what were you planning on doing after you found me?” Bucky asks after another moment.

“Honestly, I had no idea,” Steve admits. He hadn’t thought beyond that one all consuming thought of ‘find Bucky.’ “Make sure you were okay I guess. Safe. Probably try and convince you not to disappear again.”

Bucky snorts. “Typical you, running off half cocked without a plan,” he chastises. 

“Excuse you, we always had plans when we ran missions during the war,” Steve responded, affronted.

“Yeah, but you always led with your heart before that, getting yourself into fights you couldn’t win.”

“I won plenty, thank you.”

“Sure you did,” Bucky snorts again. He pauses for a moment, eyebrows pulled together before he asks the next question. “You once said that you wished you could have seen Italy outside the war, am I remembering that?”

“Yeah, you are,” Steve says softly. “Wanted to see the countryside when were weren’t hiding in cold campsites, worrying about being shot or bombed. I wanted to see the all the art, the architecture, the riviera, the lakes. I’d read a lot about it. Always sounded so beautiful. But, well, the middle of a war ain’t the best time for sightseeing.”

“We could, you know. I mean, if you want,” Bucky says, staring at the ground and very pointedly not looking at Steve. “We’re here… we could go see some of that stuff. If you don’t have anywhere else to be.”

Steve thinks about home, about the wreck in DC, about Natasha handling the media circus and Sam telling him that he needed to do what he needed to do. He thought about SHIELD dismantled and in ruins. It wasn’t like he had a job to go back to. He thinks about Bucky and idea of leaving him makes him sick to his stomach. He can’t, not when he’s just gotten Bucky back. And the fact is, he doesn’t really want to go home yet, not even with Bucky beside him. He’d done what he needed to do, he always has. He’s always fought, and fought, and never given up. Just this once, he wants to say ‘fuck it.’ He’ll fight for Bucky, for the chance for both of them to relearn each other all over again without obligation hanging over his head.

“There’s nowhere else I’d rather be, Buck. Let’s do it.”

 

* * *

 

Steve doesn’t bother opening up a map. He doesn’t bother pulling out the GPS that the rental company had happily given him, because neither of them care where they’re going. After the trek back to the car, they’d tossed their bags in, picked a direction and gone. They travel most of the day in near silence -- Steve’s doing the driving, Bucky’s seemingly content to rest his head against the window and watch the countryside. Steve doesn’t mind the silence, and although Bucky isn’t saying much, clearly wrapped up in his own thoughts, every once in awhile Steve catches him looking over, looking at Steve with wonder like he can’t believe he’s not in a dream. The sun is already starting to dip back downward when Steve finally asks, “What are you thinking about?”

Bucky blinks slowly and stares out the window to avoid looking at Steve.. He runs his fingers along the edge of the door for a lack of something else to fidget with, and bites his lip. He’s considering lying, or at least trying to dodge giving a real answer. Steve doesn’t want to push, but neither does he want Bucky to feel like he has to hide. That’s not how Steve wants to start of having his best friend back.

“You can talk to me Bucky, if you want. Please,” he says softly, sparing his eyes from the road just long enough to look over at Bucky.

“A lot,” Bucky says evasively. He shifts, and Steve can feel him staring for what feels like an eternity but is actually only a few minutes. “I was thinking about… about the day they told me you died,” Bucky admits. Steve swears that for a second he almost stops breathing.

“What?”

“A lot of what I remember is hazy,” he continues, “but I think I remember that. I think I remember telling myself that you’d come for me. Even though I knew that couldn’t happen. There’s no way you’d know I was alive. Hell, I thought I was dead most of time. And when I didn’t, I wished I was. I think… they thought by telling me that you were dead, I’d give up. But I didn’t. I remember I was _angry._ I’d tried so damn hard to keep you safe and they’d still killed you. I was so angry, Steve. I tried killing every single one of them. Don’t remember much after that for a long time.” 

Steve’s grip on the steering wheel tightens so much his knuckles are turning white. Anger, he can relate to. The same anger and grief he’d been feeling when Peggy found him with an empty bottle in a blown out pub washes over him again now. _Bucky’s alive,_ he reminds himself. It helps the feelings ebb, but only a little.

“I’m sorry,” he says, voice tight. “I should have gone after you. I didn’t even look for you. I’m so sorry, Buck.” _If only…._ Sam had warned him about that. Gentle, but firm. The guilt would eat him alive, if he let it. Sam understood, better than most. He’s standing on that edge in his mind, ready to tumble back into that pit. He’s a second away from pulling the car over and stopping ‘cause he probably shouldn’t be driving down a highway if he’s about to break down, when Bucky pulls him back to himself.

“Don’t be an idiot, Steve,” Bucky snorts, and he sounds so much like the Bucky of old that all of Steve’s attention snaps towards him.

“What were you gonna do? Search the whole mountain for me? You couldn’t have known I’d survive. Hell, _I_ didn’t know that I’d survive. And even if you had known, you couldn’t have found me,” Bucky glances down at this hands in his lap. “Look, I don’t remember hitting the ground. I don’t remember how long I was there, but I was alive. And Zola’s people knew exactly where to find me. I don’t know how they were getting their intel but it was good. Even if you’d tried, you wouldn’t have found me in time. Hell, if you’d tried, they might have ended up with two assets instead of one.”

Steve stops the car, puts it in park and takes a deep, shaky breath. He hadn’t been expecting to have this conversation so soon. He’s not ready for it. He’s not sure he’d ever be ready for it. 

“You were only there because of me,” Steve reminds him. “You could have gone home. As a POW, you could have taken an honorable discharge and gone back home.”

Bucky makes a sound that’s almost like a rueful laugh and shakes his head. “Don’t think I could have. That guy I read about in the museum? He’d never have gone home if you were staying. He’d have rather been at your side than worrying about you on the other side of the world.”

A choked sob escapes Steve. He tries to stifle it and fails miserably. Because Bucky is right. Neither of them would have left the other behind. Steve wasn’t about to go home, and so Bucky would have rathered thrown himself head first back into the fray than leave Steve behind.

“Someone had to watch your six,” Bucky adds. “And that guy in the museum… I think I like him.”

“I like him, too,” Steve agrees, and finally looks over at Bucky. Bucky’s looking at him sadly, mournfully, with a hint of regret.

“I’m sorry I’m not him, Steve.”

“I don’t expect you to be. You know Peggy’s still alive?” Bucky nods, his eyebrows drawing together at the seemingly sudden shift in topic and Steve continues, “I visit her a lot. As often as I can. Sometimes her memory isn’t so great anymore. But. Anyway. One day, just before the fight in DC, I was talking to her, and she told me-- she told me something I think I needed to hear. She said the world had changed, and none of us could go back. That all we can do is our best, and sometimes the best thing to do is to start over. I had a hard time with that at first, letting go of the past, feeling like I didn’t have a place in the world. Look, the point is, neither of us is the same. Nothing is the same, except for the fact that you’re still the most important person to me, and I can’t begin to explain what having you back means. So maybe… we start over together. If you want.”

“Starting over together, huh?” Bucky says, holding up his left hand and studying the way the plates shift as he moves his fingers. “What if you don’t like what I am? What I’ve become?”

Hesitating slightly, Steve reaches over and takes Bucky’s metal hand, threading their fingers together. “Half the point of starting over is that you get to decide who you become, Buck. Not HYDRA, not me, you. And I’m pretty sure I’ll like whoever that is. I always have before. Then and now.”

“So, who did you decide to become?” Bucky asks him curiously.

“Still working on that,” he admits. Bucky chuckles, soft and warm. It’s a nice sound, Steve decides. He hopes to hear more of it.

“You and me both then. Starting over together.”

“Together,” Steve agrees.

 

* * *

 

Neither of them feel much like driving after that. They pull off the highway into the nearby town, park the car and take to walking the stone streets. It’s small, it’s pretty, and neither of them can stop looking around, their heads darting around to take in the sight of the colourful buildings and the tall church spire that rises above them all. The round a corner and suddenly Bucky stops dead in his tracks. For half a second Steve thinks that something is wrong, that somehow they’ve stumbled on danger. Dammit, why had he left his shield in the car? His muscles tense on instinct, ready to fight, until his brain catches up with itself and he sees what Bucky is staring at.

The village is built on a lake -- beautiful, bright, and clear -- and across the lake, the mountain stretching up tall surrounding and protecting. It’s breathtaking. 

“Oh my god,” Bucky murmurs, transfixed by the sight in front of him. Neither of them can bear to take their eyes off the scene. 

“It sure ain’t like Brooklyn,” Steve agrees.

“There is not a day goes by that I am not grateful for that view,” comes a gentle, heavily accented voice from beside them. Both Steve and Bucky nearly leap out of their boots in surprise, and turn to see an elderly woman smiling at them. “It’s why I could never move away from here, you know.”

“It’s beautiful ma’am,” Steve agrees, and Bucky nods, subtly trying to smooth his clothes and tuck his hair out of his face. The lady smiles at them both and continues on her way, leaving them standing dumbfounded.

“I can’t believe she snuck up on us like that,” Steve mutters, slightly appalled.

“Nah. You knew she was there. She just didn’t register as a threat,” Bucky shrugged.

“Uh huh, that’s your instinct talking?”

“Yeah, I guess. Can’t have your alert pinging every time someone walks near you. Never figure out who the real threats are that way.”

“Uh huh,” Steve says again. “And what about your instinct to stand up straight and tuck your shirt in?” He’s prodding at potentially dangerous territory, and just praying it doesn’t backfire. Bucky just scowls at him.

“She reminded me of-- of something.” Bucky’s brows knit together in heavy concentration, like he’s trying to put the pieces together but the picture isn’t quite coming out. 

“Mrs. Mirano,” Steve says, and Bucky snaps his fingers. 

“Yes. She lived across the hall from, uh.. Mrs. Henderson?”

Steve nods and grins. “Yeah. They were always on our case about looking presentable, keeping our shirts tucked in, straighten your tie, blah blah.“ Bucky’s expression is a little distant, and Steve would be willing to bet he doesn’t remember all of it, or the details, but it’s enough. “Come on, let’s go down to the lake.”

In a lot of places, the buildings go right down to the very edge of the water. There’s a small path of docks that stretch out into the lake, and no one seems to mind when they wander down to the end. Steve kicks off his shoes and carefully rolls up his jeans. He sits down on the edge and draws his knees up to his chest, looking up at Bucky expectantly. Bucky doesn’t budge. Steve keeps staring up at him, unmoving until finally Bucky huffs and carefully unlaces his own boots and finds himself sitting a moment later beside Steve on the wood dock. Together they move to dip their feet in the water, but the second that Bucky’s toe touches the surface he yelps and pulls back.

“Shit, that’s cold,” he curses, glaring over at Steve who’s grinning.

“Well, yeah,” he says, nodding across the Lake towards the mountains. “Alpine lakes, what did you expect?” Steve kicks his feet through the water, enjoying the cool swirl. It _is_ chilly, but it’s also nice. He feels calm and content in a way that he hasn’t for a long time. He recognises that a lot of that has to do with the man next to him. The man who’s keeping his legs drawn up, refusing to go near the water.

“Aw, come on Buck, give it a chance. It’s not so bad,”

“Not bad for a penguin maybe,” Bucky mutters bitterly. But Steve’s happy to see that a moment later Bucky is quickly dropping his feet over the edge, and after the initial shock of cold, after he tentatively kicks his feet through the water a few times, he actually smiles.

Steve’s going to count that as a win.

“We should stay here tonight,” Bucky says after a moment, and then looks around behind them at the village. “I mean, if we can find a place…” The ‘somewhere safe’ is left unsaid, but Steve understands.

“Don’t worry, I’ve got this,” he promises and pulls out his phone, fingers quickly typing out a message. It’s still fairly early back home, but he’s not worried. Natasha will come through. She always does. He sets his phone behind him and gazes out across the lake, taking a deep breath. He lets his body relax, his shoulders drop, and beside him he feels Bucky doing the same. The corner of Steve’s mouth ticks up into a devilish smirk, and a second later he swings his leg, kicking up a splash of cold lake water directly at Bucky. Bucky _yelps_ and immediately retaliates by kicking up his own, bigger splash in and among shouts of “Rogers, you asshole!” 

Steve is cackling, they’re both kicking up sheets of water and flailing, and it’s not until Steve nearly topples off the dock that they actually stop to catch their breath. They’re both pretty much drenched from the waist down, wet jeans clinging uncomfortably to their legs, but Steve honestly couldn’t care less.

“Such a dick,” Bucky says again without heat, and leans back on his elbows. Although the sun is going down there’s still a lot of heat in the air, so even soaked with cold water they still manage to stay comfortable, until Steve’s phone pings behind him. He picks it up, reads a message, writes a quick reply and then stands.

“Come on,” Steve says, offering his hand and pulling Bucky to his feet, “let’s get dried off.”

 

* * *

 

The apartment that Natasha ends up finding for them is beautiful. It’s a bright, open concept place with a walkout balcony that overlooks part of the village, the lake and the mountain behind. Steve falls in love immediately. They’ve already done a walk around of the building, and it’s passed muster. On the inside, the balcony presents a potential issue, but after standing out there for a full twenty minutes, Bucky confirms there are no proper sightlines for a sniper -- Natasha had done a pretty impressive job, given how quickly she’d responded to his request. 

Once the flat has been deemed secure enough, they spend the following thirty minutes checking out every last nook and cranny. There’s a breakfast bar that divides the fully equipped kitchen from the living space, a dining table set up in one corner and another set up on the balcony. They find two spacious bedrooms, and a bathroom with a wide shower and a truly massive tub. Steve thinks he might be in heaven.

He does another loop of the flat and pokes through all the cupboards in the kitchen. His apartment in DC was nice enough, functional, but this place is something else. He looks across the space and sees Bucky standing back out on balcony. Worried that he’s still anxious about the open space, Steve quickly makes his way over and steps outside. It’s only then that he notices that there isn’t the same tension in Bucky’s posture. He’s leaning with his forearms on the stone barrier, gazing across the lake. The sun is low in the sky now, the bright blue having shifted to orange and pink. A few minutes more and it’ll drop below the peaks. Silently, Steve moves to stand beside Bucky, shoulder to shoulder and together they watch the last of the light fade and the twilight settle.

Neither move, until Steve’s stomach growls and breaks the moment. 

“Um, sorry,” he says, and looks at Bucky apologetically. “I’ll run out and grab something for dinner. We’ll have to pick up groceries but that can wait until morning.” It doesn’t occur to him until a moment later that he’s talking like they’re staying here for more than just a night. It’s only been an afternoon and he’s acting like they’re already planning to settle in. 

“I mean, unless you wanted to hit the road again tomorrow,” he adds quickly. Bucky doesn’t make any move to respond. “It’s beautiful here, the flat’s nice. Can’t argue with the view.” 

Bucky hesitates for a few seconds longer, and then nods -- a slight jerk of his head and nothing more. Steve will take it.

Their evening is far more subdued than their afternoon was. They both only have a single backpack each so it doesn’t take long for them to settle into their respective rooms. Steve hesitates outside his door, watching as Bucky stands in his own doorway, staring in at the bedroom suspiciously. Steve’s completely at a loss. He’s not sure what to offer, or how to help. He has no idea where their boundaries are anymore and he’s as terrified of giving Bucky too much space as he is of suffocating him.

“If you need anything… anything at all Buck, I’m just right here.” It feels inadequate. There’s still too much left unsaid hanging between them. But again, Bucky nods and steps into his room.

Steve’s pretty sure that neither of them end up sleeping a wink that night.

 

* * *

 

His theory seems to be proven true the next morning when he comes in from a quick run and finds Bucky back out on the balcony, sitting on the stone work with his knees drawn back up to his chest. Bucky looks wrecked. There are dark circles under his eyes, a heavy crease lining his forehead, and his expression could only be described as a thousand yard stare. Wherever he is, it’s not here.

“Bucky?” Steve calls, making sure to keep himself well out of arm’s reach. He moves so that he’s in Bucky’s line of sight and calls again. Bucky jolts back into himself and looks up at Steve, pained. Steve waits for a second to make sure Bucky’s really with him before he approaches and crouches down. He’s holding two small cups of coffee, one of which he offers over to Bucky. Bucky stares at it in disbelief for a moment before accepting it. He takes a tentative sip and groans, his eyes lighting up a little. That’s all the thanks Steve needs.

They sit together as they drink. Bucky doesn’t talk, but neither does he shy away, so Steve’s not going to press anything. It’s only once they both finish that he asks, “I was going to buy some groceries, did you want to come along?”

Bucky looks down at the town below them -- _stares_ at is is more like it, as if he glares hard enough he’ll be able to will himself to say yes. But eventually he admits defeat and shakes his head.

“That’s fine, I won’t be gone long,” Steve promises. He knows these days, days when it’s easier just to retreat inside himself. Days when talking takes too much effort. Days when his entire body feels like a lead weight, but like he wants to flee at the same time and run and run and never look back. Bucky shifts fractionally towards Steve, and Steve responds, resting a hand on Bucky’s shoulder. “I promise I’ll come back. Please don’t run.” Bucky drops his head lightly against Steve’s forearm, and Steve takes that as an agreement. “Thank you.”

By the time Steve hits the streets again, the village is awake. He’d scouted out a few small shops on his predawn run, but he takes his time, meandering down the street. It’s getting late back home, but still he pulls out his phone and makes a call. It rings twice before the voice on the other end picks up.

“Hear you’re taking vacation without me,” Sam greets, and Steve can’t help but smile.

“Yeah, well. Someone told me to get out and explore a little. You’ve been talking to Nat?”

“She stopped by this evening, let me put you on speaker.” 

The noise on the phone shifts and then he hears Natasha’s “Hey soldier.”

“Natasha. Thanks. For… yeah.”

Steve can practically see her waving him off as she says, “don’t worry about it. I owe you. How is Barnes?”

Steve frowns and glances back up the road. The building they’re staying in is out of sight but he can see it in his mind, Bucky huddled up outside as easily as he can see Bucky laughing with him by the lake the day before. “I honestly don’t know,” he admits, hating the sting that follows. “Yesterday we talked. For a long time. It was -- it was--. I can’t believe it. I can’t believe he’s here. He found me. He came to me. Today… well today is today.”

“You know there’s gonna be good days and bad days, man,” Sam adds. “What’s more immediately important right now is, is he stable?”

“He’s not going to stab me in my sleep, Sam,” Steve huffs.

“No, probably not,” Natasha agrees, “but you need to be careful, Steve. Bucky’s not going to be like other soldiers, other vets. He’s-- it’s different.”

“I know,” Steve says gentler. “That’s why I need you both. I don’t wanna fuck this up. I want to help him--”

“You will,” Natasha promises. “You need to be patient with him, Steve.”

“And honestly, you know him better than anyone, Steve. Trust your instincts, give him what he needs, but don’t coddle him,” Sam adds.

“How the hell am I supposed to know what that is?”

“He’ll tell you,” Natasha says, which surprises him a little, even though what she says feels right. “Trust me on that. And trust me when I say that survival is his number one instinct right now, above everything else. If he’s vulnerable, it’s because he feels safe. You should think about staying put there for a while. ”

“That was the plan,” Steve assures her.

They talk for a few minutes more until Steve reaches the shop, and by the time he hangs up he’s feeling a little better. He’s damn lucky to have both Natasha and Sam. But they’re both right, in the end, the whole point of this is that Steve and Bucky are starting over together. They’ll figure out what that means. 

 

* * *

 

Steve stays close to home after that. Not that’s he’s really thinking of the flat as ‘home’ -- they’ve barely been there a couple of days. But he has Bucky, and even though they still move awkwardly around each other, he feels more grounded than he has since he woke up from the ice. And he’s not even chasing fights and jumping out of planes. Sam would probably have something to say about that. 

The hardest part, Steve quickly discovers, is learning how to be in the same space together again. Bucky moves so carefully, shooting him cautious, worried glances as if he expects at any moment that Steve is going to snap and change his mind, tell him off or kick him out. Like he expects that suddenly Steve is going to decide he doesn’t want to be anywhere near Bucky. Steve treads equally carefully, afraid of pushing Bucky’s boundaries too much. It’s honestly exhausting, and after less than a day, Steve’s decides he’s had enough of it. He digs out a notepad and a pencil from a drawer in the kitchen and plops himself down on the couch right beside Bucky, propping his feet up on the table. Bucky looks over at him, startled, but Steve simply raises an eyebrow, waiting for him to object. When he doesn’t, Steve turns his attention back to the little pad and starts doodling. Twenty minutes later, Bucky draws out a small notebook of his own and starts writing. Steve sneaks the occasional look and smile at the sight of Bucky hunched over, deep in concentration as he scribbles away.

By dinner, they’ve got the TV on, watching some Italian cooking show. Bucky’s completely enraptured with it. 

“Do you know any Italian?” Steve asks, and Bucky nods. “Some. It’s passable. Not as good as my Russian.” He pauses, and then frowns. “You were shit at Italian, weren’t you?” Steve nods guiltily. 

“Yeah. SHould have worked more on it but there wasn’t time. Every spare minute was spent planning and strategising. Picked up a lot of French though, thanks to Dernier.”

“A lot of it not safe for polite company?” Bucky adds, and Steve nods. 

Bucky relaxes a little more after that, but it’s not until the third afternoon in the flat that Bucky makes any indication that he wants to go back outside. Steve almost breathes a sigh of relief. There’s nothing stopping him from going out alone, but somehow it felt more important to stay close, to remind Bucky with his presence that he was safe. But honestly, he’s going a little stir crazy. Neither of them are sleeping all that much yet, he’s run out of scrap paper to draw on, and the kitchen is running dangerously low on both food and coffee.

“I want to cook,” Bucky announces, clutching a list in his hand. They’ve been watching a _lot_ of cooking TV, and while the meals that Steve has been throwing together have been adequate, he hasn’t really been trying anything really complicated or adventurous. “And I’d like to see the town. And, can we go to wherever it was you got that coffee from?” 

Steve, of course, agrees enthusiastically. As they walk, Bucky turns his face towards the sun as if he’s trying to soak up every last bit of warmth that he can. He smiles to himself and Steve suspects that Bucky has no idea how content or how beautiful he looks. It makes Steve’s fingers itch for a pencil.

He lets Bucky order their coffee, and convinces him to also pick up some chocolate pistachio biscotti. Bucky’s Italian is beautiful, and nearly flawless in a way that Steve’s never was. He always had a knack for language. The woman at the counter laughs brightly as she hands over the little paper bag. Always the charmer, Bucky is. They take a seat at a little table outside where they can watch people walk up and down the street, and Bucky eyes Steve suspiciously when Steve suggests that Bucky dip the hard biscuit in his coffee. He keeps insisting until Bucky agrees, and his persistence is rewarded by another groan of sheer delight.

“Holy shit,” Bucky says around a mouthful of crumbs.

“See, I told you. Next time don’t doubt me.” Bucky doesn’t bother to reply, too busy savouring every last bite. Steve’s pretty sure that this is true happiness, being able to watch Bucky discover all these little pleasures, being able to share in these moments that are just for them. 

They take the long way down to the store that Steve had found on the first morning, and once there, Bucky wanders up and down each aisle, meticulously referencing his list as he drops things into the basket which Steve somehow ended up carrying. From the looks of the growing pile of ingredients, it’s a simple lasagna on the menu for the night. Not even they could screw that up too badly. 

Once back at the flat, Bucky sets about giving directions to Steve -- chop this, mix that -- and soon the kitchen is full of the smell of tomato and garlic and herbs. Steve’s mouth is already watering, and the damn thing still needs to cook yet. Bucky slides it in the oven, sets the timer, and stands up with a look of immense satisfaction on his face. Steve doesn’t say that he’s proud, but he sure feels it.

The wait is completely worth it, and dinner is the best-damn-tasting thing he’s eaten in a long time. Part of his brain tells him it’s because he and Bucky made it, together, but Steve doesn’t care. 

They’re halfway through washing up when Bucky suddenly asks, “What were we?” Steve looks at him, confused, his brain lagging behind the sudden shift and the question.

“I mean you and I, what -- what were we?”

Steve hesitates. He’s not an idiot, he knows what Bucky is asking and he’s not going to lie -- not ever -- but, it’s complicated.

“You were my best friend.,” Steve says, and Bucky huffs.

“Yeah, I know that part. But there’s more.” He frowns. “I feel like there’s more.”

Of course there was more. Once again, all the things that Steve wished he would have said are racing through his head, screaming to get out. But he’s still afraid.

“You were my best friend,” he says again. “You were more than that. You were the most important person to me. You were there for me, by my side. You supported me. When I was sick, when I got into fights, when my mom died, when I kept insisting that I wanted to enlist. You were always there.” Steve squeezes his eyes shut briefly and then fixes his gaze on Bucky. “You were my everything. And I loved you. I still love you.”

Steve isn’t quite sure what to expect following that, but it definitely isn’t for Bucky to consider his words thoughtfully, and then nod as if what Steve said is the most reasonable thing in the world.

“That makes sense. But we were never together, right?”

“No. Wait, what do you mean ‘that makes sense?’” Steve asks, quietly freaking out over how Bucky’s just accepting this huge paradigm-altering declaration with ease. 

“I don’t know, it just does,” Bucky frowns. “I mean, with what I remember.”

“What exactly do you remember?” Steve’s desperate to know, even though he’s still scared about what he might hear. 

“Feelings, mostly,” Bucky says as he scrubs away at the pan. “I remember looking at you, thinking how lucky I was. I remember hating that I was shipping out cause it meant that I couldn’t watch out for you, but I was happy ‘cause at least I knew you were safe at home. I mean, safeish. You were always going to find trouble for yourself.” Bucky looks Steve up and down, eyes assessing the broad shoulders and tall stature. “The night before I left, you went to the recruiting centre again?” 

Steve nods, confirming that Bucky remembers correctly. “That’s the night I met Erskine. Next day I was on my way to Jersey for training.”

“I hadn’t even left the city, and you were already getting into trouble.” Bucky sets the pan out to dry and wipes his hands on a towel, moving through the kitchen with a kind of comfort and ease. “I remember that’s one of the reasons I fell in love with you. You never quit. It was annoying as hell, but you had conviction, and you never stopped fighting. Sometimes I think you were just scrapping to try and prove yourself.” “Why didn’t you ever say anything?” Steve asks, his throat feeling like it’s closing up. Bucky just shrugs. 

“I don’t know. Just remember how I felt. Remember thinking I’d have followed you anywhere. Besides, you didn’t say anything, either.”

Bucky makes a valid point. But Steve never would have imagined that for as much as Bucky obviously loved him, that he’d actually be in love with that scrawny, scrappy kid. But of course it makes sense. Bucky only ever looked at him like he’d hung the moon himself. “Can I ask you something?” 

Bucky blinks and cocks his head, so Steve continues. “At the factory site, when you found me. You said that you remembered me twice. What did you mean?”

Bucky’s whole demeanour shifts in an instant. His face clouds over and his shoulders tense up, he seems to be drawing into himself, and Steve instantly regrets saying anything. “Shit. Bucky, I’m sorry. Just forget I said anything, okay?”

But Bucky doesn’t pull away. “It’s okay,” he manages to say, even though he looks anything other than okay. He closes his eyes briefly in concentration, like he’s trying to slide all the pieces together in his mind, and when he opens his eyes again, he looks at Steve with pained determination. 

“On the bridge, the first time I saw you, you called me Bucky.”

“Yeah, and you asked who the hell that was?”

Bucky nods. “I didn’t know who the hell you were talking about, who Bucky was. But you looked at me like you knew me. And something in my gut told me that I knew you, too.” He takes a deep breath. “I went back to the base where they were keeping me. Needed repairs, and my head wasn’t right. I was… ‘unstable,’ they called me.” Bucky snorts, as if finding some twisted amusement in that. 

“I was asking about you. They ended up calling my handler in to calm me. I asked him who you were, insisting that I knew you. He gave me a speech about how my ‘actions had shaped the course of humanity’ and how he ‘needed me to do it one more time.’ He meant you. I needed to complete my mission of killing you. But I told him I knew you.”

Steve can feel his heart shattering into a thousand pieces. Bucky might not have understood it, but he’d remembered. That brief, tiny interaction had been enough to spark a memory that should have been pulled out of him. Steve remembers the look of confusion before Bucky fled the bridge. Then he remembered the look of cold determination on the helicarrier, the insistence that he didn’t know Steve at all, insisting that Steve was nothing more than a mission as he drove his fist into Steve’s face repeatedly. Inefficient way of killing a downed target -- he’d been lashing out in anger and confusion, even half conscious and bleeding out, Steve had seen that. He can fill in the blanks from what Bucky has told him, but Bucky presses on.

“I’d been out of cryo for a while at that point. Too long. They didn’t like wiping me in the middle of a mission, but the longer I was out, the harder it was to recalibrate me. But I was stuck on the fact that I knew you. It would have compromised my ability to completely my mission. So they wiped me, and sent me out again.”

When Bucky looks at Steve again, his eyes are shining and moist. “But I remembered you again. They tried to burn you out of me, and it didn’t work. That’s why I knew you were important to me. And eventually how I realised that I’d loved you. Because my memory of you was rooted so deep in me, they couldn’t keep you out. “

Steve can’t stop himself. Two quick steps and he’s in Bucky’s space, throwing his arms around Bucky and folding him into a hug. Bucky goes without resistance. “And I won’t leave again. I swear, Bucky,” Steve promises, voice muffled against Bucky’s hair. “I love you. You’re a part of me, too. Always.”

Neither of them move for a long time after that.

 

* * *

 

After that, Steve feels a thousand times lighter. A huge, burning weight of regret that he's been carrying since Bucky fell has been lifted from him, and if he never gets more than what they have right here, he'll count himself blessed. He texts Sam, who calls him back.

“I'm proud of you man. That's a big step for both of you. Bucky there with you now?”

“Nah, he went out for a walk. He's been doing a lot of exploring. He really loves it here, Sam.”

“And you didn't go with him?” Sam asks with mock affront. Steve rolls his eyes. 

“Figured you'd be happy that we weren't being horrifically co-dependent,” Steve throws back, and Sam chuckles. “But seriously Sam, it's good for him to do be able to stuff on his own right? I don't want him thinking he has to stay with me all the time, or asking my permission for stuff, or--”

“It’s good, Steve. Just relax. You’re not going to fuck this up.”

Steve's stretched out on the couch reading when Bucky gets back, carrying a couple of bags of groceries, which he drops in the kitchen.

“Did you have a good afternoon?” Steve asks as Bucky kisses his forehead and the flops down on the couch half laying on Steve. Steve reaches over and runs his fingers through Bucky’s hair, inciting a soft, content sigh. 

“I'm going to try and make tiramisu,” Bucky announces, and Steve makes a noise of excitement. 

“Do you want help?” Steve asks 

“If you plan on eating any, you better be helping, you mooch.” 

Steve stops running his hands through Bucky’s hair and moves to get up, which causes Bucky to whine and cling to him. 

“Can't have it both ways Buck,” Steve laughs, shoving Bucky off of him. Bucky grumbles, but rolls to his feet and pads out to the kitchen behind Steve. 

On the counter beside the groceries is a small square of paper with impeccably neat writing, outlining all the steps needed to make a perfect tiramisu. “The woman at the market gave it to me,” Bucky explains. “The one who's always giving us suggestions of stuff to try. She said this was the recipe that she said won over her husband, and so it would be perfect ‘for your own young man.’”

Steve blushes furiously at that, but he feels a surge of joy. It had been such a sweet gesture on her part, and Steve’s looking forward to the next time he goes into the market and telling her how it turned out. They hadn’t been in the town that long, and it already felt like they were making a place for themselves. 

Bucky insists on laying everything out methodically to start with, but that doesn’t last. By the time the savoiardi were in the oven they are both covered head to toe in flour, and Bucky has Steve pinned to the kitchen floor, tickling him mercilessly. He only stops when the timer goes off, and he leaps to his feet to grab the trays before the savoiardi burn, leaving Steve to catch his breath with a grin a mile wide. 

Late that night they sit out on the balcony in the warm evening air, stealing bites of tiramisu from each other’s dishes and laughing so much Steve’s sides hurts. This might very well be the most perfect night of his life. He says a reluctant good night to Bucky, and goes to bed feeling lighter and more at peace than he has in a long time.

Which is, of course, why it all goes to shit.

He falls asleep with a smile on his lips and wakes up a few hours later screaming, tears streaming down his face. He’s no stranger to nightmares, but it’s been a long time since he’s had one so brutally vivid, one that jolts him awake, leaving him unsure if he’s still dreaming or not. Which is why, when his brain registers Bucky looking at him, his eyes wide with fear and concern, Steve launches himself at Bucky, grabbing his arms and holding on like their lives depend on it.

“Hang on, Bucky!” Steve shouts and tries to pull Bucky closer to him, away from the gaping hole in the side of the train. “I’ve got you. Don’t let go, I’ve got you, please Bucky.” Steve’s fingers are digging in hard enough that he’s going to leave bruises on Bucky’s skin, but it doesn’t matter because Bucky’s still there, and Steve still has time to save him.

It takes a full two minutes of Bucky talking to him for Steve’s brain to finally fully wake up and realise that he’s in his bed in Varenna, not on a train in a pass in the Alps. He comes to at the sound of Bucky’s soothing voice and Bucky pulling him close to his chest.

“Hey, Steve, I’m right here,” Bucky promises, “you’ve got me. Not going anywhere.” Steve blinks slowly, realisation dawning. 

“You’re -- you’re here. You’re alive --”

“Yeah, Stevie, you were dreaming. I’m alright.” The reassurance just ends up making Steve cry harder, curling himself tighter against Bucky’s chest. It’s not quite the same as when he was smaller, but he still fits, and it still feels like he belongs here. Bucky doesn’t make any move to pull away, not even after Steve is all cried out and laying limply in his arms. It’s not until Steve shifts to sit up that Bucky drops his arms, and he misses their security almost immediately. 

“I’m sorry,” he says, rubbing at his red eyes and splotchy face.

“I’m not,” Bucky responds. 

“You shouldn’t have to --”

“Bullshit,” Bucky cuts him off. “Starting over together. That’s what you said. Together.”

“You’ve got your own stuff --”

“Damn right I do,” Bucky stops him before can follow that train of thought to go too far, and normally Steve would be annoyed as hell that Bucky isn’t letting him finish a thought, but he doesn’t have the energy to fight, and this is one of the first times that Bucky’s actually putting his foot down on something, the first time he’s actually pushed on any issue. 

“Together,” he says again, leveling his stare at Steve. “Together, or not at all.” 

It’s not really an ultimatum, but it’s definitely something. An agreement. A commitment. To weather everything together, the bad with the good.

“Together,” Steve agrees. 

Eventually, when Steve is ready to lay back down again, Bucky is right there with him, arm over Steve’s waist, nose nuzzled against the back of Steve’s neck, reminding him that Bucky is safe and right there. And the following night, when Steve goes to bed, Bucky follows and curls up beside him again. And the night after. And then the night after. 

 

* * *

 

Steve wakes up one morning to his phone ringing. Bleary eyed, he grabs for it and squints in confusion at the name on the screen.

“Tony?” he asks, voice rough with sleep.

“Go check your mail,” Tony demands without preamble. 

“What?” 

“Your mail, Steve. In your mailbox. I know you had mail back in the dark ages, you’re not that old. And by mail, I mean door.”

He’d learned through many mistakes that sometimes it was just easier to go along with what Tony said than to try and get him to explain what he means. Carefully, Steve extracts himself from Bucky’s hold and stumbles out to the door. Hair sticking up in all directions, he opens the door to find a courier standing there holding a small package.

“Sign here,” the man says, offering up one of those digital pads. Steve signs, takes the package and heads back inside. 

“Tony what is this?” 

“It’s actually for Barnes.” Bucky’s up now, stumbling into the kitchen, making coffee on autopilot while he curses Steve’s friends about waking them up at god-awful o’clock in the morning. Neither of them care that it’s 10 am, it’s still god-awful o’clock. 

“What’s this about, Tony?” Steve demands as he hands the package over to Bucky who takes it with reluctance, since it’s now distracting him from making coffee.

“Just open it.” Steve can practically hear Tony vibrating with excitement, and he watches as Bucky tears the envelope open and dumps out the contents.

“Oh my god,” Bucky whispers. “How?” 

Steve looks, and laying on the table is a New York State driver’s licence, a US passport, and a bank and credit card, all issued under the name of James Buchanan Barnes.

“Oh my god. Tony, how did you do this?” Steve asks. 

“It wasn’t easy, trust me. I called in a lot of favours and had to pull a few strings,” Tony admits, “But James Barnes is officially alive, in the system, and actually has a pretty good credit rating thanks to yours truly.” 

“But… how? Why?” Steve asks as Bucky tentatively picks up his new ID. 

“You saved my life, Steve. Consider this thanks for that. Just promise me that you’re taking care of yourself, and that you won’t be a stranger.”

“I promise.” He hangs up the phone and Bucky is still staring in wide eyed disbelief. 

“This was Stark?” he asks, and Steve nods. “When did you save his life?”

“Insight,” Steve explains carefully. “He was one of the first targets on the list.”

“You mean one of the ones who was seconds away from getting shot by a helicarrier?”

“Yeah. Something like that,” Steve mutters, but Bucky lets it go. He’s flipping through all the pages of his shiny new passport, declaring him a fully alive US citizen again. The documents might have been acquired in a slightly illegitimate fashion, but the results were still the same.

“Congratulations, Bucky,” Steve says, snaking an arm around his waist and kissing him gently. 

Immediately after they’re finished with the giant celebration brunch that Steve puts together, Bucky is dressed and headed for the door when Steve catches him.

“You’re off in a rush. What’s the hurry?” Steve asks curiously. He gets a hard glare for his troubles.

“Can’t a guy enjoy a midday walk in the sun by himself, Rogers?” Bucky huffs, and Steve backs off.

“Alright, alright. Have fun. Don’t get into trouble,” Steve calls as Bucky heads out. He catches Bucky muttering something to himself about pots and kettles, and Steve can’t help but chuckle to himself. He heads back inside and sends a quick text to Tony, thanking him again. He owes that man more than he can possibly repay.

Bucky returns a few hours later with a couple of large bags and a cheshire grin. “Go outside and don’t peek” Bucky demands before Steve even has a chance to greet him. Steve stares at the bags, but Bucky moves to stand in front of them and points. “Outside,” he insists, so Steve goes. He’s waiting less than ten minutes, but it easily feels twice that because of the damn anticipation. He’s got no idea what the hell Bucky’s getting up to, or what he brought home, but he’s desperate to know the surprise.

Finally, _finally_ Bucky comes outside, still grinning. “Okay, now close your eyes,” he says, holding out his hand for Steve to take. Steve laces his fingers with Bucky’s and does as he’s told, closing his eyes. Bucky carefully leads him inside and then stops, tugging on Steve’s hand gently. “Okay. Now. Open them.”

Steve opens his eyes, and gasps at the sight in front of him. In the middle of the room is an artist's easel with a blank canvas sitting on it. A few more canvases are leaning against the frame, and on the table against the wall are several brand new sets of beautiful brushes and paints. 

“Oh my god,” Steve breathes, dropping Bucky’s hand so he can go and inspect all the new supplies. “This is incredible.” He picks up a brush and holds it in his hand. He hasn’t done a lot of painting recently, but he’s itching for it. “Why?”

“There’s a lot of money in that bank account,” Bucky said awkwardly. “Stark sent me a message too. ‘Reparations,’ he called them.”

“So the first thing you did was buy art supplies for me?” 

Bucky nods and shifts his weight. “It’s what I wanted. Because it makes you smile. And because you’ve done so much for me.”

“Not that much,” Steve says as Bucky closes the distance between them.

“You didn’t give up on me, Steve. Not ever. I love you.”

Steve drops his hands to Bucky’s hips and pulls him close. “I love you too, Buck.”

“Good,” Bucky smiles. “Now prove it and make me some art.”

 

* * *

 

 

It takes a little bit of practise to get used to working with paint again, but Bucky’s provided him with more than enough supplies for a bit of experimenting. He moves the easel to right by the balcony for his first major project. They’ve both taken to wandering around the house clad just in their jeans, barefoot and shirtless to savour the warmth of the sun and the breeze. Steve doesn’t tell Bucky what he’s working on, but it doesn’t take Bucky long to figure it out, and when he does he can’t help but laugh.

“Really, Steve? You’re painting the view we see every day?”

“I sure am,” Steve says as he mixes the perfect shade of blue for the lake. “There’s a great reference right there, and the number of times we’ve both sat out there until we’ve nearly fallen asleep ‘cause we can’t bear to leave the view, I thought it might be nice to have a painting of it in our room.”

“You’re such a sap,” Bucky smiles, dropping a kiss to Steve’s shoulder. 

Steve paints, Bucky writes, they explore the village and the countryside, they take late night swims in the lake, they become regulars at the café. Without really realising it’s happening, they start to build a life. But Steve should have realised that it was only a matter of time before someone recognised them. It was inevitable, really. 

When it happens, it’s not like anything he’d expected or prepared for.

They’re sitting in the shade at the cafe in the late afternoon after a full day outside when Steve hears it. 

“ _Mio Dio._ You’re him.” Steve startles and looks up, straight at the old man who’s staring at Bucky with wide eyes.

Shit.

Steve can see it in Bucky’s face, they’re both thinking the same thing. They need to run. He thought they’d be okay here, they’d be safe, there was no one out looking for them But clearly he’d been wrong. They’re both halfway to their feet when the man says, “It’s you. You saved my life.”

Bucky looks like he’s just been slapped in the face. “I… what?” 

“When I was a boy.” The man looks unsteady on his feet and Steve quickly guides him to sit.

“What do you mean I saved you?” Bucky demands sharply.

The man blinks a few times, clearly caught up in his memories but he answers, and his voice is steady. “When I was boy, there was a battle outside my village. Guns, and bombs going off. We tried to run but there was so much confusion. I was young, I couldn’t tell friend from enemy. It didn’t really matter. I saw the machines roll in -- the ones with the red symbol -- and I knew it didn’t matter. They -- the HYDRA -- everyone knew. They crushed everything in their path to victory. They cared nothing for the lives of the innocent. Collateral damage for the greater good. They were ruthless. But there was a group of Americans, they found us hiding out in a shed, too scared to move. You found us, myself and my mother and my sister. You covered us, protected us from the guns and the bombs and brought us outside the village, and then told us to run. So we ran, and we never looked back.”

The man’s eyes are damp as he reaches to take both of Bucky’s hands. “I would know your face anywhere. You are the man who saved my family. I don’t know how you are alive, or how you look the same as the day I saw you, but I know you are him. If Captain America is alive, then I can believe it’s possible for you to be alive, too. Thank you. For saving me.” For a moment Bucky’s expression is distant, a look that Steve has come to associate with Bucky piecing together a memory he isn’t quite sure of, or hadn’t realised he had.

“Yes --” Bucky says, his attention snapping back to the man. “I remember -- I -- have to --” One second Bucky is there, and the next he’s gone, on his feet and disappearing out of sight. Steve needs to follow him. He quickly jots down his number on a napkin for the man to take and then Steve is gone, too, chasing after Bucky. He needs to make sure that Bucky’s okay, because he’d looked anything but.

Steve doesn’t waste any time trying to find Bucky, or track where he’s gone. There’s only one place where they both feel safe, where Bucky would retreat to. Sure enough, when Steve gets back home he finds Bucky right where he expects to, hunched over himself and staring out across the lake.

“Bucky?” Steve calls as he steps outside so as not to startle the other man. Bucky doesn’t look up, doesn’t even acknowledge that Steve is there. “Bucky? Talk to me,” he calls again as he gets closer and sees the Bucky is shaking where he sits. Steve drops down beside him and waits. 

“He remembers me,” Bucky says hoarsely. “Because I saved him. I _saved_ him, Steve.” 

“You did, Buck. You’re amazing.”

“ _Was_ amazing,” Bucky spits out with such venom that Steve startles. “He remembers me before.”

“What do you mean?” Steve asks, trying desperately to understand where Bucky’s mind is right now.

“How many people would look at me now and see the man who killed their loved ones? How many people would look at me at see the murderer? The asset? The ghost story they tell their children about? The Winter Soldier.”

“Bucky that’s not --” 

“It _is_ , Steve!” Bucky yells, springing to his feet and retreating back inside. Steve hurries to follow him. “The person that man remembers? Who saved him? Doesn’t exist any more. I _remember_ that day. I remember dragging a scared little boy through the mud. I remember telling him to run even though I _knew_ I wasn’t going to escape. There was no way out for us. I knew I was either going to die that night or end up captured. I remember saving him. And I remember killing all the others. Every one of them.” He looks back at Steve, and Steve would give up anything to save Bucky from the crushing pain that’s written all over him. “I can’t ever come back from that, Steve. I can’t keep pretending I’m someone who saves instead of kills.” 

“You saved me,” Steve says quietly, and Bucky freezes. “You remember saving me from the river. You could have let me die. But when you had a choice, what did you do?” He takes a step closer to Bucky. “You saved me. If you had to make that choice again, right now, what would you chose.”

“Save you. Always. Every time,” Bucky says with conviction.

“And that boy all those years ago? Would you choose to save him too?” Bucky nods, and Steve takes another step closer so that he’s nearly in Bucky’s space again. “All of your targets, did you ever once think that you had a choice to do anything other than follow your mission?” Bucky shakes his head again, and his face is crumpling. Steve closes the distance and wraps his arms around Bucky, pulls him close. “That’s how you come back from it, Bucky. You choose to.”

Bucky lets out a choked and broken sob and clings to Steve, who holds him the way that Bucky had held him that night after his nightmare. Steve wouldn’t dream of saying that he understands what Bucky’s feeling, or what he’s dealing with. But Steve knows a thing or two about being lost and out of touch with himself. And while it’s nowhere near the same thing, at least he’s here to offer Bucky the comfort that he’d never had. 

 

* * *

 

It takes a few days after that before Bucky feels ready to go outside again. Steve had convinced him to call Natasha and Sam, which at first he’d refused to do because ‘they’re _your_ friends, Steve.’ But he capitulates when Steve points out that _because_ they’re his friends, he knows they’re trustworthy. Bucky ends up staying on the phone with Natasha until sunrise, and when he finally crawls into bed, into Steve’s waiting arms, he burrows down and whispers, “She came back from it.”

Once Bucky feels a little more like himself, he calls the man from the café on the number that he’d given to Steve, and they arrange to meet again. Steve goes with him for support, just until Bucky seems settled, and then politely excuses himself to give Bucky a chance to talk without him hovering. He’s putting the last finishing touches on the painting of the window view when Bucky gets back home. Steve hears the thud of Bucky kicking shoes off, followed by the soft rustle of fabric as Bucky tugs his shirt off and drops it somewhere in the middle of the floor. Steve smiles to himself, unable to let himself be remotely upset. It wouldn’t be the first time either of them had left clothes in the middle of the floor for a variety of reasons. 

“Did you have a good time?” Steve asks as Bucky sneaks up behind him and kisses his bare shoulder.

“Yeah. Thank you, Steve. I mean that. I -- I don’t know what I would do without you.” In an instant, Steve turns around and steps into Bucky's space, crowding him against the wall to kiss him hard. He’s still got a paintbrush in his hand, but he doesn’t care. Because Bucky needs to be reminded that Steve would be just as lost without him, too. Bucky catches Steve’s hip under his hand and tilts his head to deepen the kiss, smiling against Steve’s mouth. It feels perfect, natural, like they’ve found how they fit together, and Steve wants it forever. Bucky sneaks his thigh between Steve’s legs and Steve groans, rolling his hips against Bucky’s before breaking the kiss to catch his breath. 

“I love you,” Steve reminds him, and it’s a good thing neither of them get tired of hearing that, because they both can’t stop saying it. 

Later on, when Sam calls to check, he asks Steve again if he’s found what makes him happy. Steve looks over to the couch where Bucky is stretched, dozing in the sun, and a warmth spreads through his chest.

“Yeah,” he says with a smile. “I think I have.”

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi on [tumblr!](http://dapperanachronism.tumblr.com)


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